There’s a heavy rain tonight–it started as a gentle sprinkle that I could barely feel while pulling up a few weeds and popping a few seeds into the ground. I had gotten home from work a little earlier than has been the recent norm, so I made dinner and watched a PBS show before getting up to do some outside work. I didn’t realize that the clouds were going to begin dripping just around that time!
I took advantage of the few minutes I had before the rain started coming down harder, and then I headed for the cover of my back patio and sat down in my old blue folding camp chair. I leaned my head back and listened to the rain coming down and then straightened up to look around. The grass was glistening, and a single robin perched on the post, then hopped down and bounced across the lawn as though suddenly aware of the rain and darting for shelter. The leaves in the highest branches of trees across the street were swaying and bowing against the falling water. The sky looked heavy, grey like a thick flannel sheet.
Sometimes I know that you like to act up when it rains, so I was thankful that in those quiet moments, I was able to just sit in silence and appreciate beauty despite how I felt you creeping across my shoulders and settling into my lower back — firing waves of burning discomfort through the network of nerves.
Now, a few hours later, I’m really aching–arms, shoulders, back, legs, knees . . . almost everywhere . . . and very tired, even though it’s only 9:30ish . . . and I know that these feelings are your doing, but I know it’s also not worth getting mad. I’m wanting to take this time to remind myself . . . and to remind you . . . to take those moments like we did earlier, when the time is available, to just sit and watch and breathe in the crisp smell of rain on a cloudy spring evening.
I’m starting to believe that part of the key for us to live successfully together will be for me to make sure I don’t get so focused on you that I miss the other things that are so beautiful. There are things that are really rotten and disappointing about life, but I know I’m going to need to sometimes shake it off, duck under cover and watch the rain.
I hope you’ll sleep well tonight so that I can, too.